You Can Never Take Back Time
by LovelyLily07
Summary: The words we write and the words we say...Are they the words we life? Or do we put on a mask and pretend... pretend that when we wake, those words are no longer a lie, but the truth."-Takes place after 3x15... One Shot


**Disclaimer- I own nothing**

_The words we write,_

_The words we say_

_Are they the words we live?_

_Or do we put on a mask and pretend…_

_Pretend that when we wake_

_Those words are no longer a lie_

_But the truth._

_

* * *

_

Everyone has had the thought, _when I die, will people miss me?_ But not everyone has come to the same conclusion. The jocks are given memorials in the gym; their jersey hung on the walls until they crumble. The cheerleaders have funerals that draw surrounding towns in; their shining faces spread throughout town like a whisper. The nerds are commemorated, the virgins beloved, and drama geeks honored in a vigil. In some form or another, everyone is missed. But how about the _loser_, the one who was beaten to the floor, their dignity shoved in a locker and never let out? What about the chubby guy with glasses that stood a little closer to the wall as he walked down the hallway simply as to not attract attention. The loser, who was the only person who remained true to who they were.

When you ask the question _when I die, will people miss me,_ you are inferring that everyone knows the real you. But in reality, people never do.

Everyone has had the thought, _when_ you_ die, will_ I_ miss you?_ But most never come to a conclusion; rather they force the idea from their mind and ship it along their stream of consciousness, never allowing it to return. Can you a miss a person you don't even know?

* * *

Every day begins ordinary, the clock screams in your ear until your hand comes crashing down on to silence it and your body sticks to the bed for just a moment longer. Grudgingly, you get up, turn on the sink in your bathroom and lackadaisically hold the bristles of your toothbrush beneath. Eventually, the toothpaste makes it way, squeezed into an imperfect line. But like every day, you make it to school only to enjoy at least a part of the otherwise hellish 6 hours. Normally it is your friends that make you smile.

What if you didn't have friends, not one person to sit next to at lunch and think _maybe today will be all right? _What if what made one day better than another was the fact that your glasses were still intact, that you hadn't been the punch line of a joke in the cafeteria.

High school can be some of the best years of your life.

It can also be the worst.

And as terrible as all this is, you never give a second thought to the petite girl with hair covering her face, scooting around the English room to sit in the corner so one side of her is completely protected from her peers. You never sympathize for the boy you mistook as a 5th grade girl. We ease our minds by saying that _they bring it upon themselves; surely there is someone they can be friends with_. But we never go further and say that _we can be that friend_. Rather we crack up when their milk spills on the lunchroom floor and the moment they bend down to clean it up, their face joins the puddle of pasteurized liquid.

We use them, so nobody looks at us, so nobody sees that we are just like them.

* * *

Tree Hill High School is filled with tales of a nobody turned somebody. The overnight success story because someone went to the _right _party or slept with the _right_ guy. But what is it that makes it right when those two subjects are opinioned based. Who has the _right_ to judge an opinion?

Haley James was the girl in the tutor center who wore jeans and t-shirts every day before school. Her hair was either tied down in pigtails or clumsily thrown into a bun where stray hairs flew around her face throughout the day. She was cute. But she wasn't the sex symbol of the town or the model that graced its presence. Haley was an average girl but with some stroke of luck, caught the eye of Nathan Scott. And once that happens, everyone looks at you like you are the most perfect individual, that you have a fire. People scrutinize your mistakes. In many ways, it is equivalent to being famous and just like that, people want to see you fall. So rather than burn from the highest tree until she was a spark in the dust, Haley hung out with Nathan's crowd. No, she was not average. She was popular and she never looked back.

Nathan Scott was an asshole, downright and simple. He was the jock the town worshipped and the man the girls stuck to. He had looks and personality, athleticism and built. He was genetically engineered to be popular. But he didn't get there simply because the way his cheekbones where chiseled on his face or his smile mesmerized thousands, but because he arose, from as small as the sandbox to the basketball court. And he didn't care who he had to hurt to get there.

Some call that bullying.

He called it drive.

Then there was Lucas Scott, the pretty boy of Tree Hill that went unnoticed until he made the winning basket for a _game_. Obviously the school's priority was correct in holding another check in the win column above anything of true importance, like the fact that lunch had been the same thing for three days straight. But no matter, he saw his ticket and flew first class to the popular crowd. However, you can never forget your roots on the River Court, bouncing a ball alongside those with _different_ athletic ability. He had taught Mouth a lay-up and Jimmy to shoot a free throw. But in the blink of an eye, Lucas had the world at his feet, the River Court just gum underneath his shoe; something that no matter how tried to get rid of, a small part was always there. He forgot about his _old_ friends, the moment Brooke Davis winked her hazel eye in his direction.

Brooke Davis. There were few words to be said about the princess in school. She was gorgeous in every sense of the word, and very much Nathan's counterpart. Half of the school was still holding bets about when she would dump Lucas for his half brother. She was captain of the cheerleaders, which _guaranteed_ her a point of view, whether she was smart enough for one was completely up in the air. Her hair was shiny even in the dull rain and her eyes had a sparkle even in the midst of sadness. But if you were to strip her of beauty and social position, what did she have to hide behind?

Finally, Peyton Sawyer, the seemingly depressed artist who nobody could possibly understand. But she was a blonde and blue-eye bombshell, apart of the cheer squad, and had made out with _both_ Scotts. She had the looks, the social status and at one pointhad both guys. What kind of person could have so much and yet still feel complain about her life?

* * *

"Hey Brooke," Lucas called to the brunette as she whipped her head to see the blonde boy running to her.

"Hey, what's up?" she asks, motioning to Rachel, who had been walking with her, to walk a little faster.

"Yeah, yeah," she replies, "I have other friends to hang out with," her mouth moves quickly, searching the parking lot to find someone else to talk to. Her eyes land on Jimmy Edwards, a loner boy that she had never actually had a conversation with, nor did she plan on starting one today. Dressed in a burgundy sweatshirt, she watched as he walked into school surreptitiously and she chuckled because it was a hideous color to wear in her opinion.

"Any surprises planned that you want to prepare me for?" Lucas raised his eyebrows.

"What are you talking about?"

"Well I would rather you not flash the entire school again, but if you _have_ to, I would like to know about it," he laughed as she turned and slapped him along the shoulder.

"Stop it, that was so embarrassing," she buried her head along his chest as he wrapped his arm around her body.

"Everyone has those moments," he reasons, kissing her on top of the head.

"Yeah but mine included my whole chest," Brooke pouted.

"It's not the end of the world, the school will get over it by lunch," he said and she just shrugs.

"That's in 4 hours."

"Well I have a gift to help you get through those _long _hours," he said sarcastically, but with the mention of a gift, all is forgotten and her head popped up.

"Gift?"

"Yeah, I've had it for awhile and just never given it to you," he reached his hand into his pocket and pulled out a small bow.

"You're proposing to me?" her voice was uncertain.

"No," he chuckled. "It's a necklace," he opened the box and pulled out the golden chain with a small heart strung along. With a beaming smile, she caressed it in her hand, seeing a B&L intertwined along the heart.

"Lucas" she began speechless.

"I love you, you know that Brooke Davis," he looked down sweetly as she bit the bottom of her lip, glancing once again, down at the necklace.

"I love you, you know that Lucas Scott," her words are honest and true.

"Want me to put it on?" he asked after a moment and she nodded wildly, returning to be the childish girl he had fallen for.

It looked perfect against her elongated neck and hung perfectly along her chest. She kissed him softly, tasting the peppermint toothpaste in his mouth and smiling as his tongue met hers in a dance.

* * *

The bell rang for the end of 5th period, the thankful sigh inside the classroom almost loud enough to cloud the incessant noise. Soon, their chairs squeal and desks scratch along the surface, and students race to the door, simply to move on.

"Come back at the end of the day for your homework," Mr. Lange calls to the students but he knows only a few are listening. The girl who remains seated, pretending to finish copying notes when in reality she is just avoiding the crowd by the door, is the only student the teacher is sure is listening.

"What homework?" Nathan calls with a laugh and hurries out the door. Okay maybe they were all listening, but only a few are actually going to follow through with his directions.

"Get all the notes?" Mr. Lange stands beside her desk as she glances up at him, shutting her binder quick enough so he couldn't see what she had been writing.

"Yeah, I got to go," Glenda says and moves through the now empty door in hopes of avoiding the scrutinizing eyes of high school.

* * *

Laughter rings through the hallway as students slam lockers and grab hold of their significant other's hand.

Mouth holds onto the string of his backpack that dangles by his arm. He is used to the throng of students, packed with only an inch in between. But he maneuvers through his peers without a problem. He doesn't smell of fear simply because he is friends with the Scotts and nobody who has any relation with them is sought out as prey.

"Hey Jim," he says in passing, the extent of their conversation these days.

"Where are you going?" he asks, his hand stuffed inside the pocket of his sweatshirt, his eyes wandering back in forth, in a daze.

"I'm skipping lunch and going to the media lab to finish up something real quick," Mouth replies with a smile and Jimmy nods, but that is the end as the two walk further from each other.

* * *

It takes 3 minutes to move from English to the cafeteria; Brooke and Lucas knew this by heart. After all, it meant that they had 2 minutes to make out before they were _supposed_ to be at lunch.

"What if we just ditch?" Brooke suggests, pleading with him as she leans along his athletic body.

"No, I studied really hard for the Civil War test and I have history at the end of the day," he reasons with her and she just slumps.

"You are so boring. Nobody studies," she tells him.

"I guess I am a nobody," Lucas tells her with a smile, kissing her forehead.

"I don't date nobodies," Brooke tells him with a conjured attitude.

"I should probably just ask for my necklace back then," he tells her, and immediately she shakes her head.

"No, I love this necklace."

"Even if it's from a nobody?" Lucas jokes.

"You're a somebody to me," she admits as Nathan and Peyton walk beside each other, towards them.

"I want to gag _every time_ I am near you two, how do you feel about that?" Nathan asks and the two just shrug.

"Shut up," Brooke laughs, pushing his shoulder causing him to lose his balance and knock into the kid behind him.

"Sorry," the muffled voice comes and Nathan just smirks, turning back around as the small girl picks up her books quickly and the moment she is gone, he bursts into laughter.

"I love freshman," Nathan tells the group, but Peyton just looks on confused.

"That's Melissa Reynolds," she tells him, hoping to trigger a memory. "She's in our grade and in _your_ 2nd period class."

"Huh," is his only reply as Peyton moves away from the group.

"Wait, Peyt," Brooke calls after her, watching the mess of blonde curls turn around.

"Yeah?"

"You're not coming to lunch?"

"No," Peyton begins. "My dad is came in this morning and I haven't seen him in a month so I'm ditching and he's taking me to lunch."

"Papa Sawyer," Brooke smiles, "Got to love him."

"Well I will see you two this afternoon," Peyton replies, turning in the direction of the administration office.

* * *

The table was a little smaller today, Haley still working in the Tutor Center and Peyton having lunch with her dad. It ended up just being Nathan, Lucas, Brooke, Rachel, Bevin, and of course, Tim, who always managed to grab a seat before anyone had the chance to refuse.

"Date of the Emancipation Proclamation," Lucas asked Brooke as she closed one eye, thinking.

"Uh, give me a second," she thought. "1845?"

"1845, is that your final guess?" Lucas asked, holding in his laughter.

"No, yes," she smiles. "Yes," she eventually decides.

"No, 1863," Lucas tells her and her mouth forms an 'o' sign. "The Civil War only lasts from 1861- 1865," he says but she just ignores him.

"I don't want you to teach me anymore," she leans her head along his shoulder.

"Maybe I don't _want_ to teach you anymore," he chuckles, stealing a fry from her tray and flicking it into his mouth.

* * *

"Watch where you're going," a chocolate haired boy sneered as he ran into Jimmy, turning back to his friends as if it was funny.

"Yeah, fuck off," another replies. Jimmy just stands there, taking what he has gotten used to his whole entire life. Only, do you ever get used to the bullying, or do you just endure it. You accept that there is _nothing_ you can do except listen as someone, no better than yourself, picks apart your flaws. Your insecurity, plastered across the school, bringing something unknown to hundreds of student's attention.

"Hey guys, come on, he dropped his tray," another says, seemingly friendly.

"Oh sorry, here's 5 bucks," another dangles the money before dropping it to the floor waiting for Jimmy to reach down at grab it, eventually kicking him in the gut, landing him in a fetal position.

But after years of persecution, don't countries eventually fight back and overthrow a dictator that has made their life living hell. What happens when the dictator is thousands of students and the only one revolting is an overweight junior? Are the circumstances the same, the principle based on the belief that to see change you have to bring matters into your own hands?

Slowly, his hand moved without his mind into his pocket, fingers burning they gripped the cool material, arm trembling he brought forth a gun. And for _once_ he saw the fear in someone else's eyes; for _once_ he was in control.

And without thinking, his finger snapped and the bullet raced through the air, piercing the wind, and smashing the rear door, glass splattering into a multitude of directions.

For a moment, nobody moved. It had to be a dream, each person in the room was too young to be trapped in a room with a gun, they were only children. Stupid, immature children.

You can think to yourself and be preached to by your parents what you should do in a dangerous situation. If a man in a white van approaches you and says that his cat is stuck in a tree, you are supposed to yell and run. If there is a fire and you are stuck in your room, you are supposed to trust the man in the funny mask.

But in reality, does a man in a white van really approach you, or is someone that looks like a friendly neighbor, a person that you would stop and chat with on a walk? Do you even have time to scream before in a blink of an eye, your life changes?

And when a student stands before you with a black hand gun, what do you do?

Then, the cafeteria became chaos as students fly in directions, trampling over others that have fallen in the rubble. Their minds scream at them to run, to move, to _survive_. And that is what every single student does as they flee, the room draining within seconds, nobody looking back and everyone closing their ears before they hear a _pop_, the one noise that could easily end their life, forever.

Although everyone may wonder if they will be missed when they die, they only think of the tears and in their death, they are given instant popularity. Everyone takes the time to plant a flower by his or her grave and say a few words. Those who were full of regret suffered and those who were guilt consumed, drowned in alcohol. But what nobody thinks about is that when you're dead, you don't get to come back. It is not a free pass to come and go when you please. There is no communicating to loved ones or asking for another chance. Once you are gone, you leave the world and you don't get to step foot upon it again. So you can wonder what it would be like, but in the end, it's all the same.

But as brunette, blonde, and red hair merged into one flurry of color, as shrill screams fill the holes in the wall, it doesn't matter who is a jock or who is a stoner. Because by holding that gun, Jimmy created a world that he longed for, a world where social status doesn't matter. And in the end, when faced with possibility of death, you don't care about being at the top of the pyramid or if you will have a date for prom. You would do anything to live.

* * *

"Brooke, come on!" Lucas shouts at her, holding tightly onto her small hand, probably cutting off circulation. But he was not going to lose her, he was not going to allow even air penetrate their connection. The only thought that ran through his mind was to get her away, to save her.

She didn't reply, but she didn't need to. She simply cried, she ran with tears streaming down her face as her heart fell from her chest and landed splat along the ground. She sprinted as her body burned and her mouth trembled. _This isn't fair_.

She could die, Lucas could die, and every single person had the same likely hood in living to see a gun as his or her last image.

She looked around, a nose smacking her cheek in the process and an arm pushing her backwards as they raced in every direction. Brooke couldn't see Rachel or Nathan, Bevin or Tim. She hoped to God Haley was in the tutor center unharmed and that Peyton was long gone by now. But she couldn't even concentrate on her friends.

Brooke felt her body being flung forward and her hand became separated from Lucas's and she felt as if she was falling. Her back smacked the classroom wall and she felt to the floor, her knees becoming a haven for her face as she buried her chin.

Soon enough, he was on top of her, holding her and kissing her tears, wiping away the hair from her face. All around them were sniffles and cries, some students were praying, some were trying to find a signal in their phone, and there were a few that were trying to pretend that nothing was happening.

_"Code Red. Repeat Code Red. This is NOT a drill_," Principal Turner's voice quivered over the loud speaker.

"I thought they would have made that announcement quicker," someone murmurs close to Lucas.

"It's only been 2 minutes," another replies and for a second the room falls quiet.

Lucas could feel Brooke shaking beneath his arms, her chest heaving and her sobs filling his ears. He held her closer, feeling her breath along his cheek and delighting in their closeness.

"I want this to be over," she coughed through her tears, others feeling the same way.

"It's okay," Lucas tries and soothes her, but it is to no avail because he doesn't believe that.

_Pop. _

_Pop_.

_Pop._

"Just firecrackers. There must be an experiment going on in the chemistry room," Bethany Frye reasons, her sophomore sister tucked beneath her arm. Slowly the girl nods and sniffles.

"I'm sorry I took your hairbrush this morning," she whispers and Lucas is pretty sure her name is Erin.

"It's okay, I didn't mean to yell," Bethany apologizes as the two hold closer to each other.

Lucas looked at the two siblings and around the room, kids holding their heads close to their neighbor, sharing tears and memories, whispering words of love to peers they had never talked to before. He glanced down at his girlfriend and then he realized that sitting here he was sure to die. Every person in this room would die if nobody did anything.

"Lucas, please don't leave me," Brooke cried, reaching out to him as he left her along the wall.

"Listen, I need you to be strong," He tells her, stroking her cheek. "I need to do something, I need to make sure you get out of here okay," his voice cracked. Quickly she grabbed onto the back of his neck, holding him along her chest.

"I need you here with me," she whispers.

_Pop_.

"No matter what happens Brooke, I love you," he whispers against her lips, holding them along his, feeling the salty tears mix along their faces.

"No," she cries shaking her head, refusing to admit what may happen.

"Listen, there is a gun out there and every moment I spend in here, safe, is another moment that someone is being threatened," he begs her, hoping that she can understand, and stubbornly, she does.

"I love you," she tells him in such a low volume that the words burn his heart before they touch his ear.

His stomach twists and turns as he touches her cheek, turning away from his girlfriend and his pretty girl. Lucas's heart was beating so loud that he was sure it would burst through his chest. His hand gripped the metal handle and turned it so slowly, and he didn't even have the strength to look back as he shut the door behind him, shutting Brooke into a world of despair.

"Come on Brooke," Bethany opens her arm, and the brunette scoots closer to the sisters, girls that she had seen before but never truly known.

"You run track don't you?" she whispers as her head falls once again along her knees.

"Yeah," Erin smiles through the tears, holding onto Brooke's hands.

And for some reason, they feel connected, the three girls, like they had known each other forever.

* * *

Walking in the hallway all Lucas could think about was Brooke, all the things he wanted to say to her and the things he wanted her to experience. He wanted to tell her that she was the most amazing girl he had ever known and that he was so in love with her that he wanted nothing more than to escape into a world all their own.

His feet became cemented in the ground as his mind raced.

The gun was lying on the floor; Jimmy's back turned, and Lucas only 20 feet away.

Slowly he crept towards the weapon, hoping not to alarm his old friend, hoping not to get shot. But his shoe squeaked and Jimmy spun so quickly that the gun was in his hands before Lucas could curse his luck.

"Jimmy," he said quietly, raising his hands.

Without a reply, Jimmy closed on eye, aiming his gun towards Lucas, his body violently shaking.

"Just put the gun down," he eased.

"Go away," Jimmy said slowly but Lucas couldn't do that, he couldn't come face to face with a gunman and walk away, knowing that his brother or best friend could easily become a victim. He couldn't leave until everyone else could to.

"Just put the gun down Jimmy," Lucas pleaded.

"I can't," Jimmy, replied, "I can't."

"Please," Lucas tears.

"Don't you get it Lucas? Huh? I can't take _any _of this back. I just wanted it to all stop, the teasing and the bullying. I am tired of waking up every single morning and knowing that the moment I walk into school I become the target. You have the pretty girlfriend and all-star life, you can't understand. I _hate_ my life and have since I was 5 fucking years old when someone thought it would be funny to kick me in the shin. Certainly it wouldn't hurt the _fat_ boy. I had to go home in kindergarten and tell my mom that I tripped. And when she bought me a Spiderman lunch box, I had to pretend I hated it because I knew the other guys would just have another reason to make fun of me. _You_ weren't there to see her face. _You_ didn't have to see my dad's face when he came to pick me up from school only to find that I was getting beaten up on the front lawn. Have you ever seen the disappointment in a father's face to realize his son is a_ loser_? I don't get to erase my life. I never even got to have one."

"That can change," Lucas promised, "just put the gun down and we will walk out of here together."

"Remember when you taught me to shoot a free throw?" Jimmy asked.

"Yeah."

"What was the last step?"

"Follow through," Lucas whispered and Jimmy nodded his head.

"I have to follow through with what I was planning to do."

Slowly Jimmy brought the gun to his head and he closed his eyes, knowing that this was the end, that he would leave the bullying behind to find another place, wherever that might be.

"Jimmy NO!" Lucas shouted, racing towards his old friend, a memory shooting through his mind of when they were younger, shooting around on the River Court, and Mouth shouting out stats. Eventually Jimmy joined the bench and called out the score as Lucas raced around the pavement. They had been friends, but life changes and he grew up, he became popular, yes, but he hadn't changed.

The gun slipped from his head and into the air, and in an attempt to secure the weapon in his hand, his finger pulled too tightly, forcing the bullet into the air. And there was no scream of utter pain, but a look of shock.

Lucas put his hand on his head, the rush of warm blood pooling around him as he stumbled backwards one step and then every single thing went black.

Jimmy stared at the blonde athlete, his body convulsing as blood dripped from his head onto the floor, his eye lids forced open as his pupils contracted and dilated rapidly.

He couldn't stand it, to see his friend like that. After all, he hadn't meant to shoot him, or anyone for that matter. He just wanted everyone to feel afraid like he did every single day of his life. For once, Jimmy Edwards wanted to walk down the middle of the hallway without getting punched.

And he looked into the barrel of the gun, the cool metal breathing into his face. He clicked the trigger and everything was over.

* * *

**6 months later**

Brooke looked at Nathan, holding his hand for support as they rang the doorbell, hoping that Lucas would answer with a broad smile and inviting laughter. He would ask them to come in and play a game of basketball or hell even read a book. Anything to know that life would be the same again.

But it never would be.

Karen's curly hair was tied into a ponytail and her tired eyes looked at the two teenagers who although it had only been half a year, looked older and wiser. As if they had seen the world. Maybe, they had.

"Come in," she welcomed, just like everyday as the start menu of a video game filled the television screen and a book lay on the coffee table. This was the same scene has yesterday and the day before. But the book hadn't been touched in 6 months and the video game never changed from the picture is present on the television screen. But nobody had the heart to change anything.

Brooke slowly opened up the door to his room; a tear forming in the corner of her eye just like it had every single day since it had happened.

"I can't do this," Nathan told her but she shook her head because they didn't have a choice.

"It'll be okay," she put on a brace face and turned to see the same bedroom she had slept in countless nights.

"Are you feeling better?" Nathan asked, as Lucas turned to face the two, a smile spreading along his face with a nod.

"Hi," he greeted.

"Hi," Brooke smiled softly, walking closer to his bed until she was right next to it. "I brought you these flowers," she told him, replacing the older ones that sat on his bedside table.

"I'm Lucas Scott," he said shaking her hand.

"I'm Brooke Davis," she shook his hand and slowly formed herself into his body, holding onto him because it was then that everything was normal.

"Neck-uh-lace," he formed his words, pointing to the heart around her chest and she cupped his hand as he fingered the locket.

"Yes, Necklace," she smiles. "An old friend gave it to me."

* * *

**Author's Note- I am pretty sure most of this probably doesn't make sense but I just needed to write something that was not either of my two stories because I knew I would end up writing a chapter in which something irreparable would happen. I've been going through some stuff and I thought a few episodes of One Tree Hill would help. I've never seen the episode of the school shooting; I just could never bring myself to watch it. **

**Well I watched it yesterday and I cried, a lot. Anyways, I know that many people have done their own twist, but I hope I haven't taken much of someone else's. **

**I've never been bullied but I tried to put myself in someone who has shoes. I don't think I grabbed emotion in this story, but it was just something that I wrote.**

**Thank you all for reading.**

**Love,**

**Lily**

**(Oh and sorry I know I go out of present and past tense a lot with my verbs and normally I change it… )**


End file.
